


Snowdrop

by lusteralliance



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Genderfluid Character, Pre-Canon, also made up character named elliott, well not rly bc well youll see ghghg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 16:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20066692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusteralliance/pseuds/lusteralliance
Summary: Jeralt takes Byleth to get their hair cut.((good dad jeralt and genderfluid tiny byleth u-u))





	Snowdrop

**Author's Note:**

> this is the coziest thing ive like ever written
> 
> i want jeralt to be my dad

Jeralt was polishing the pommel of his blade when he heard Byleth’s little footsteps coming down the stairs.

He knew it was his child by the way they walked; one step, then a heavier one when Byleth landed on the step two below the first. They didn’t like the one in the middle, since it creaked and bent and made the little one nervous.

Jeralt also knew it was Byleth by the fact that his child was the only other resident of their little home by the creek.

Jeralt glanced up as Byleth landed on the last step, in their oversized sleepwear that consisted of a dark gray shirt—it once belonged to Jeralt, but he had abandoned it when it became too moth-bitten. Byleth had found it and started to wear it to sleep, so what could Jeralt do but patch up the holes?—and worn pants that went to the child’s knees. 

Jeralt smiled as Byleth toddled over, rubbing their blue eyes and letting their father slip them into his lap. They giggled when Jeralt kissed their dusky hair.

“Good morning. What’s it going to be today, kiddo?”

“Boy,” came the child’s soft response, Byleth’s dark eyelashes sticking together from yawning tears. Jeralt carried him to the washroom to help him take a bath.

Byleth was going to be five in a couple weeks. He liked chasing the foxes and catching crayfish in the creek, though he got upset when Jeralt nearly cooked them one evening.

He loved decorating his hair (and Jeralt’s, of course) with early spring blossoms, as well as giving summer wildflowers to the boys and girls of the village he and Jeralt frequented.

The child didn’t like to talk, and Jeralt was fine with that—grasshoppers and swallows were nice to listen to in the mornings. He was aware of a couple village folk who would reprimand their small children for not speaking; Jeralt charged them extra if they needed help with thieves.

There was an incident when Jeralt had taken Byleth (who was a girl that day) to the village for some sweets, and when she wouldn’t talk, a couple elderly villagers started to scold her. This infuriated Jeralt, and he lashed out at them; he had to be escorted out of the sweet shop and was not allowed back in since then.

Thankfully, Jeralt had a friend who bought treats for Byleth and traveled to the woodlands to deliver them each moon.

Byleth liked to keep his hair short, cropped just over his shoulders. Jeralt hadn’t accosted elders where his child got his hair cut, so it was trimmed every two and three quarter moons (Byleth wouldn’t have it any other way).

His hair was to be cut again this afternoon; Byleth sat obediently in the tub while Jeralt cleaned every part of the child he was permitted (by said child) to touch, taking extra care to rid Byleth’s scalp of dandruff and dirt. His little one had a habit of playing in the muddiest of places and going straight to bed, and the barber would probably not appreciate having to claw her way through a layer of muck in her own shop.

“Papa,” Byleth said after he got bored of patting the surface of the water.

“Yes?”

“Is early?”

“Yes. The sun hasn’t risen yet.” Byleth beamed proudly, sweeping his arms across the surface of the bathwater and hugging armfuls of fragrant soapsuds to his little chest.

Byleth liked being up early, and Jeralt liked seeing his child happy, so Byleth waking up at dawn was a good occasion for the both of them.

When Byleth was as clean as he could possibly be, Jeralt plucked him out of the water and sat him on his chair, bundling him up in a warm towel while he fetched Byleth’s village clothes. It wasn’t much different than what he and Jeralt usually wore at home, but it was a little more formal, a little more presentable.

Jeralt helped Byleth dress, then fixed a girdle around his waist to secure his tunic. Byleth hugged his father’s arm in thanks, then went off to play with his dolls.

Jeralt cleaned himself as well, and he realized too late that he hadn’t brought his own village clothing when he had fetched Byleth’s. He waited until Byleth was wholly absorbed in his game before darting past him to dress in the bedroom.

“Papa!” Byleth called, just as Jeralt was braiding his straw-colored hair in the mirror.

“Yes?”

“There’s water!”

Jeralt cleaned up the trail of bathwater he had made when racing past Byleth to dress, thanking the goddess he hadn’t slipped.

Byleth helped to pack lunch, and the two ate breakfast in comfortable silence. Byleth was a fan of butter and bread; Jeralt reminisced, with a twinge of sadness, that his wife had loved butter and bread just as much.

“Ready to go, snowdrop?” Jeralt asked, after Byleth had cleaned his plate.

“Yah!”

“Let’s go!”

Byleth liked to say “yah” instead of “yes” or “yeah.” It always made Jeralt smile. And Jeralt often called his child “snowdrop” instead of his real name. Byleth often responded to “snowdrop” more than he responded to “Byleth.”

The child, with their basket of lunch and one of his dolls on his arm, skipped off to the creek, where he peered between rocks and _almost_ jumped into the water many times before Jeralt caught up to him.

The two traveled to the mouth of the creek by sunrise, gentle light filtering through the thick foliage as Byleth pointed out some minnows hiding in the shade of a boulder. Jeralt held his hand as he toddled along the beaten trail, then carried him and his basket when he got tired.

They stopped so Byleth could pick some flowers for the village children, and they sat on a flat stone to eat lunch at the edge of the forest. When they finished their bread and butter (Byleth insisted on having it again, and Jeralt didn’t mind), they continued on their way.

Byleth was drowsy in Jeralt’s arms when they arrived. His father greeted those who said hello and smiled to those who smiled at the sleepy Byleth, his little hands clutching the handle of the basket as if for dear life.

The village marketplace was bustling with its usual early morning crowd—cattle herders with their cattle and dogs, farmers lugging their daily crops to their stands, blacksmiths and weavers hurrying to set up shop. Buying a head of cabbage from a nearby stand was Elliott. Jeralt greeted him as he approached, and the dark-haired man smiled and hurried over.

“Hello, Jeralt! How are you?”

“I’m all right. How are things on your end?”

Elliott beamed as he held his purchase under his arm. He was a scrawny but strong-willed man with a wife and two daughters, both of which were Byleth’s age. Elliott was familiar with the child and his father, since he was the one who bought and delivered sweets to their home by the creek every new moon.

“Things are splendid. Hello, Byleth,” Elliott whispered to Byleth, who wiggled his fingers a little in greeting before tucking his face back into the hollow of Jeralt’s shoulder.

“He’s a bit tired after our journey today,” the mercenary explained, and Elliott nodded in understanding. “I’ll see you again soon, my friend. Safe travels.”

“Yes, you too!”

Jeralt sat down outside the barbershop and nudged his child’s arm until he was fully awake. Byleth whined and puffed up his cheeks in annoyance.

“It’s time to get your hair cut.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Tired.”

“Want to take a nap?”

Byleth nodded.

“Okay, take a nap.”

Jeralt felt awkward sitting outside the shop; he was a burly, heavyset man who clearly looked like an outsider, with his lighter hair and tannish skin. Most of the people around here had an olive complexion and darker locks upon their heads, so Jeralt stood out like a white feather on a black chicken.

Byleth took after his mother, who had been born in this village. A few of his little friends came up to Jeralt to say hello, and when Jeralt woke Byleth so he could greet them, he simply gave them their flowers and went back to sleep.

It was midday when Byleth yawned and stretched in Jeralt’s arms. Jeralt felt as if he could take a nap himself, but he asked Byleth if he wanted to go get his hair cut now and took him inside the cool shop when he said yes.

They greeted the barber, who had worked with Byleth long enough to know he didn’t like sitting still for too long. She made quick and careful work of his hair and Jeralt paid her, and off he and his child went to find some dinner at the market.

After buying some fresh produce, salted meat, and a tart for dessert (Jeralt had picked Byleth up so he could choose from the many selections at the pastry stand), Byleth led the way along the busy village streets to the edge of the forest, where he crawled onto the flat rock from before and patted it expectantly.

Jeralt climbed on as well and they shared a brief meal of pork and apples. The two distinct flavors and textures went to war in Jeralt’s mouth, and Byleth didn’t seem to like them together either. They ended up eating the fruit tart instead.

Byleth somehow managed to grow tired again on their way home, the setting sun casting long shadows through the trees. Jeralt carried him for the remainder of their trek.

“Papa,” the child mumbled into Jeralt’s chest, his father closing the door behind him in their dimly lit home.

“Yes?”

He didn’t respond.

Jeralt blinked and placed the basket on the supper table, then bent down to sit Byleth on his chair. Byleth wrapped his arms tightly around his father’s neck, refusing to let go, and Jeralt gasped, hugging his little one against him.

“What’s wrong, snowdrop?”

“Tired….”

Jeralt let out a sigh of relief; for a moment he thought he had upset Byleth!

“Okay. Let’s get you in bed, then.”

Byleth squirmed when Jeralt tried to put him down again.

“No!” he cried. “Sleep here.”

Jeralt felt his child’s soft, newly trimmed hair brush against his neck as Byleth snuggled into him, and the veteran mercenary couldn’t help smiling. It had been a long day, but he didn’t mind carrying his little one for another night.

“Okay. Sleep here.”


End file.
